


Nothing's Gonna Hurt Me With My Eyes Shut

by vintagerogers



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad Flirting, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Slash, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagerogers/pseuds/vintagerogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"'Friend of mine told me I couldn't stop a table saw with my hand," he says, like it's nothing, and Peter recoils. "Turns out he was right."</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where they meet for the first time outside the nurse's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's Gonna Hurt Me With My Eyes Shut

**Author's Note:**

> for the tumblr anon that requested it!! i went a bit rogue with this one, im not gonna lie, but high school aus are my life blood and i genuinely couldnt help myself. i hope you like it anyway!!

So it's only 11:47 in the morning and Peter's already slumped in a chair outside the principal's office, holding ice over one of his eyes and waiting for either of his dads to pick him up. 

 

It's the second time in three days he's needed to be picked up, and he knows for a fact that they aren't gonna be happy with him. In Peter's defense, though, it totally isn't his fault. He hadn't asked Flash to hit him, or anything. He just asked him — very, very politely — if he wouldn't mind just telling everybody about their secret affair 'cause Peter loved him too much to keep pretending to hate him. Flash hadn't thought it was funny. 

 

He'd actually broken Peter's glasses when he'd hit him, and the nurse had had to pick shards of glass from his cheek before she'd given him the ice and sent him on his way. Which, in practice, had been a lot more painful than Peter had been expecting. 

 

So now his face stings, and even with the ice pressed to his eye, he can feel that it's starting to swell. He really just wants to go home and take a nap, and he's half tempted to let himself fall asleep in his chair when the door to the nurse's office swings open across from him again with a flourish. Peter reluctantly blinks his eyes open as Wade lets himself out, tall and broad shouldered with a baseball cap pulled backwards over his unkempt mop of blonde hair. 

 

Peter's never actually ever had a conversation with Wade, but he recognizes him easily enough. He's the sort of ridiculously, impractically popular that makes him kind of famous around their school. He's like their homegrown version of royalty, actually. He plays football, he throws parties, he pulls pranks on teachers and underclassmen and the mayor, once, when he'd visited the school. He's in the year above Peter, but he's a couple years older — closer to twenty than he is to eighteen — 'cause he'd been held back for some reason or another in his tenth year. Peter's heard a couple different stories about what he'd done, all varying degrees of fucking ridiculous, but he isn't sure which of them, if any, are true. 

 

He carefully shifts the ice against his eye, wincing to himself as Wade blows the nurse a kiss before he closes the door behind him. He has a wide, crooked grin plastered across his face, despite the cloth that's wrapped around his right hand and that's so bloody it's a wonder it hasn't started to drip onto his jeans. He pulls it tighter around his hand as he crosses the hall, dropping heavily into the seat next to Peter. 

 

"Is she actually a nurse, d'you think?" He asks casually, and Peter looks up, raising his eyebrows as Wade tugs the flannel tighter around his palm. "Like, did she go to nursing school with high hopes and just got saddled with this shitty job? Or is she just somebody's mom who gets paid to give kids ice and ibuprofen?" 

 

He looks down at Peter curiously, and Peter shrugs, glancing towards the nurse's door and back again. "I think she's a real nurse," he says, and Wade heaves his shoulders as he leans back in his chair. 

 

"I thought so too," he agrees, "but I showed her my hand and she threw up and kicked me out. If she was a real nurse she'd have a stronger stomach, wouldn't she? Isn't that required?" 

 

"What'd you do to your hand?" Peter asked, 'cause he's been curious since he'd seen it, and he's bleeding so much the flannel is almost more black than it is red. It's gotta be painful, but Wade only shrugs again, adjusting the bloodied cloth around his palm. 

 

"'Friend of mine told me I couldn't stop a table saw with my hand," he says, like it's nothing, and Peter recoils. 

 

"What?" He asks. 

 

Wade grins, wriggling the tips of his fingers where they're poking out from beneath the cloth. "Turns out he was right," he says, tugging the flannel more securely around his hand. "Two of my fingers are just hanging on by, like, muscle. On the bright side," he says, "I've always been curious about what the bones in my hand look like. So that's cool." 

 

Peter blinks at him a few times. He'd heard quite a few stories about Wade, but he'd always thought they were too fucking bizarre to be true. He's starting to think he might've been mistaken. "I'm not a doctor," he says, looking down at the bloodied flannel before he looks back up at Wade's face, "but I'm thinking you should probably go to the hospital." 

 

"Probably," Wade nods, wriggling his fingers again. "I'm waiting for a ride. The nurse said she'd call somebody for me. I'd drive myself, but I've lost a lot of blood. You should've seen the table," he tells him. "There was more blood than actual table. There's no way it isn't stained. It's probably gonna be that colour forever. And they're probably never gonna let us touch those saws again." 

 

"Christ," Peter says, 'cause, like, Christ, and Wade nods. 

 

"What about you?" He asks, and Peter's caught off guard for a moment. 

 

"What about me?" 

 

"What happened to you?" He asks, nodding at Peter, and Peter blinks at him again before he remembers the ice on his eye and the tiny red welts littered across his face. 

 

"Right," he says, carefully taking the ice from his eye and blinking slowly beneath the fluorescent lighting. "I don't think I can top the table saw thing. You might not be interested." 

 

"Am I allowed to guess, then?" Wade asks, leaning thoughtfully back in his chair. "You fought a bear off with your bare hands?" 

 

"Close," Peter says, "but not quite." 

 

"You fought _two_ bears off with your bare hands?" Wade asks, eyes wide, and Peter can't keep himself from snorting out a laugh as he presses the ice against his eye again. 

 

"Not quite," he repeats with a grin. "I told Flash Thompson I was in love with him." 

 

Wade barks out a laugh, clapping his good hand over his chest. "So he hit you?" 

 

Peter shrugs. "He was gonna hit me anyway," he says. "I just don't know how to keep my mouth shut." 

 

"Tough love," Wade says solemnly, and Peter laughs again, lifting the ice from his eye to press it gingerly against his swollen cheek. 

 

"Something like that," he agrees. 

 

"Does Thompson give you a lot of trouble?" Wade asks, leaning back in his chair again, and Peter starts to shrug before he thinks better of it, nodding. 

 

"Yeah," he admits. "I exist and that really rubs him the wrong way."

 

"He's such a piece of shit," Wade snorts, carefully pulling the flannel tighter around his hand. "I can rough him up a little for you, if you'd like. Y'know," he says, lifting his fists, "maybe punch him in the eye a few times. Knock out some of his teeth." 

 

Peter grins again, shaking his head against the ice. "That's okay," he says, and Wade shrugs. 

 

"Just lemme know if you change your mind," he says. "I throw quite a punch, you know. I once punched a shark between the eyes." 

 

It sounds fantastical, but he sounds so earnest that Peter can't help but raise his eyebrows. "Really?" 

 

"No," Wade admits, shaking his head. Peter laughs. "That was a lie. I've never even seen a shark in person. I'm just trying to impress you. You're really pretty." 

 

Peter's laughter kind of catches in his throat, and he flushes, shifting the ice again so he doesn't have to look Wade in the eye. "That's probably the blood loss talking," he says, and Wade scoffs. 

 

"Don't be modest," he says. "I have eyes. I can see that you're pretty." Peter flushes darker, pressing the ice against his cheek again, but he can't keep himself from cracking a smile as Wade grins. "I'm Wade, by the way," he says, starting to hold his wounded hand out to Peter before thinking better of it and drawing it back. "But you can call me tonight." 

 

Peter snorts out a laugh, despite himself. "I'm Peter," he says. 

 

"S'very nice to meet you, baby cakes," Wade nods. "Have I impressed you yet?" 

 

"I'm on the fence," Peter tells him. "Tell me more about the shark you punched between the eyes." 

 

"Well," Wade says, with an air of grandeur that makes Peter laugh again, despite himself. "I was in the ocean, minding my own business and training for the summer Olympics." 

 

"Which event were you training for?" Peter interjects, and Wade waves his good hand. 

 

"All of them," he says. "But I was training a little too hard and released too much testosterone into the water and a shark got wind of it, I guess." 

 

"I don't think sharks are attracted to testosterone," Peter adds, and Wade shushes him, waving his hand again. 

 

"Yes, they are," he says. "Shut up. But when this shark realized that I wasn't actually a potential mate they were really mad. They tried to attack me, but I fended them off. They managed to get one good bite in on my arm, but I punched them right between the eyes, and they swam off in shame." He holds his arm out, pushing the sleeve of his sweatshirt up to his elbows so Peter can see the scars that stretch across his skin from his elbow to about halfway down his forearm. Admittedly, they look like teeth. "See?" 

 

"Did something actually bite you?" Peter asks, and he doesn't know why he's surprised. "What happened?" 

 

Wade shrugs, pulling his sleeve back down. "It was a cow," he says, and Peter snorts. 

 

"A cow?" 

 

Wade nods. "I lost that fight," he admits. "The cow won. Pretend you didn't hear that, though. That's not impressive." 

 

"I'm kind of impressed you managed to get bitten by a cow," Peter tells him, and Wade kind of lights up, grinning widely. 

 

"Really?" 

 

Peter nods. "What'd you do to piss it off?" 

 

"They can smell fear," Wade tells him seriously, and Peter laughs again, shifting the ice back over his eye. 

 

"I believe that," Peter nods. "They seem like malicious animals." 

 

"Right?" Wade agrees, throwing his good hand out enthusiastically. "That's what I'm saying! It wasn't a fair fight. I didn't stand a chance." 

 

Peter laughs again. "I'm sure you'll get him next time." 

 

"I'm gonna punch him right between the eyes," Wade says, grinning widely when Peter laughs again. "Are you impressed yet? Is my cow fighting prowess winning you over?" 

 

"Something like that," Peter agrees with a grin. "We'll have to see how I feel after the fight." 

 

Wade barks out a laugh, and he looks like he wants to say something more, but he's interrupted when the door to the nurse's office swings open again and she lets herself into the hall, brushing off the front of her pants. 

 

"Come on, Wilson," she says. "Your ride is here." 

 

"What?" Wade protests, and he looks so genuinely scandalized that Peter can't keep himself from snorting. "But I was just gonna get Petey to agree to go out with me." 

 

"Get your hand fixed, first," Peter tells him. "Then you can fight that cow, then I'll go out with you." 

 

"Do I have to win the fight?" Wade asks, raising his eyebrows, and Peter pauses thoughtfully before he shakes his head. 

 

"We'll see." 

 

Wade grins again, smacking a wet kiss against Peter's cheek before he heaves himself to his feet. "I'll try my very best to win," he promises, "so I can finally impress you." 

 

Peter laughs again. He doesn't doubt it.

**Author's Note:**

> dont forget to come find me on [tumblr](http://sweetheaert.tumblr.com)!! im always taking prompts and requests so dont be afraid to hmu


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